


no free rides on the ferris wheel of life

by Skyuni123



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (i am not christian but no explicit horniness mmkay), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Office, Boss/Employee Relationship, Enthusiastic Consent, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knotting, M/M, Sex Pollen, Worldbuilding, not of any of the named characters, there is no actual sex in my good christian fanfic, they're all Very Serious Adults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23699590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyuni123/pseuds/Skyuni123
Summary: it's weird living in a world with alphas, betas and omegas.stiles and derek negotiate that and basically fall in love in the process.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 1
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> non-con moment happens at the very end of the chapter and does not affect the named characters. If you wish to skip it, scroll to the bottom after, "Things go to hell very, very quickly."

It’s beginning to be a bit annoying. 

When the Change had hit the world, most of them (please note:  _ most)  _ had taken it pretty well. The majority of the population, the seventy percent or so that had been identified as Betas - and honestly, Stiles has a problem with how they’ve all been categorised, but he’s not going to bitch about it - just got on with their lives.

The Alphas and Omegas?

Well…

Needless to say, it hadn’t been a free soda and free ride on the ferris wheel of life for a few months for them. 

It is, thoroughly, becoming a bit annoying.

“Bro-” Scott comes around the corner, giant Slurpee cup in hand, and stops dead in his tracks at the sight in front of them.

Yes, there’s an Alpha and an Omega banging in the hallway. Yes, Stiles is fairly sure the Alpha has knotted. Yes, it’s really, really gross.

Stiles feels vaguely bad for them - it’s gotta be hard being entirely controlled by an overarching biological urge, but even so. 

He vaguely recognises the Omega as someone from Marketing - Olivia, or Audrey or something - and the Alpha’s a cocky bastard named Jake who works in the call center.

The pair do not pay him and Scott a single lick of attention, which is probably for the best. Stiles has been on the wrong end of an Alpha in thrall before, and it had earned him a black eye and a desire to never do that again. 

(In all fairness, the Alpha had been all horned up, popping a boner and all, in  _ public _ , grunting something about finding, “the bitch he deserved,” and Stiles has never been one to put up with casual misogyny - even if said Alpha was about 30 feet tall.)

“Dude.” Scott elbows him. He’s still sucking on his Slurpee straw, not a care in the world. “Wanna get the fire house and spray them down or something? I’ve got a report due in like, an hour, and there’s only one entry to my office.”

Said entry to said office currently has an overactive Alpha holding an Omega up against it, so Scott very much doubts that Scott’s going to get any of his work done today.

“I have work to do…” Scott complains, as Stiles drags him away.

“If Derek wants to complain then he’ll have to take it up with them.” 

Scott just grunts, and offers him a sip of the Slurpee. It’s blue raspberry, and honestly, could be better.

Derek is Stiles’ boss. Stiles has thought, many a time, about what it might be like to have Derek fuck him into the mattress, but like, in a fun consenting way, not a ‘Alpha/Omega predatory “biological urges”’ way. 

  
  


It’s about twenty minutes later when Derek busts into his office, apparently on some kind of moral rampage. Stiles is actually doing work - sort of - but Scott’s just there, swinging back and forth on his spinny chair and still making his way through the Slurpee. 

It’s fucking massive. Honestly, it’s overlarge.

“What-” Derek just blinks at them for a second, apparently mildly taken aback. “Nevermind. Were either of you going to tell me that…” He grunts. Even after the Change, there’s nothing quite like saying ‘your random coworkers are banging in the middle of the corridor and that’s like, normal now’. “Were either of you going to tell me that Monica and Jake are... - in the corridor?”

Oh,  _ Monica.  _ Stiles rubs at his forehead. If she’s Monica, then who’s Olivia… Is she the one who he tried to flirt with that time… 

“Stiles!” Derek doesn’t quite slam his hand down on his desk, but the implication is there. 

Stiles preens, just for a moment, then gets his libido in check. Bad libido, down libido, not the time - it’s not as though there is really a good time at work but even so… “Yes, Derek?”

“Workmates. Sex in corridor. Ring any bells?”

“Well, Scott suggested that we spray them down with the fire hose, but I figured that wouldn’t change anything, especially if he’s… you know.” 

There’s nothing like the feeling of trying to avoid saying, “tied to your sex partner with your weird knobbly dick” to your boss. 

“Mhmm.” Derek grunts again, looks displeased. His features are dark. It’s a common look for him, but Stiles has never really seen it this close up.

Stiles swallows, only wanting to lick his neck a little bit. 

“Ugh.” Derek seems to come to a conclusion, and he turns to leave. “Oh, and by the way, Scott, that report’s still due.”

“But my office…” Scott whines, almost pitfully. “I can’t-”

“Well, next time someone goes into heat and you find out about it before I do, come and let me know.” Derek growls, “For the sake of their modesty, if nothing else.” 

Oh yeah. Modesty. Not been a lot of that post-Change. 

Derek uses that opportunity to fuck right off, which is very him.

“He is such a dick.” Scott moans, finally  _ finally  _ sucking the last out of his Slurpee. “I have no idea what you see in him.”

Something something dominant men who give a damn about others… Stiles isn’t going to go into it. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to your office and even shield your poor eyes from the Alpha/Omega stuff.”

Scott flips him the bird and tosses his empty Slurpee cup in Stiles’ recycling bin. “Ugh.”

The couple have finished by the time they get back to the corridor, and are slumbering peacefully on the floor. Someone has even tossed a blanket over them. 

(Stiles thinks it was probably Derek.)

  
  


The day’s not completely ruined, though, because Derek comes by his office later and apologises for being so grumpy.

_ And  _ he even compliments Stiles on his latest press release.

Things could be worse.

  
  


Stiles and Lydia get coffee together the next morning before work. Stiles never thought he’d be a morning person, but the caramel frappe he’s got is doing wonders for his mood.

Lydia’s doing her makeup in a small compact. Pre-grown up Stiles probably would be watching her - god, he had  _ such  _ a crush - but he’s staring out the window instead.

There’s a lot of people out this morning. Way more than usual. It’s weird. “It’s weird,” he says, gesturing towards the window. “What’s going on?”

“Oh,” Lydia says, still applying her bright red lipstick, “Some pack dynamic thing. They do a thing called a Mating Run? I don’t really get it, tbh.”

Stiles mmms under his breath and Googles it. What he finds is… weird. Very weird. For the most part, Stiles tries not to judge people, but this is  _ weird. _

“They do know they’re not wolves, right. Right?”   
  


“I don’t know.” Lydia snaps her compact shut and takes an overlarge sip of her chai latte. “Sometimes I could go for a bit of that - unhinged, wild, endless desire - couldn’t you?”

“Not really.” Stiles replies, and resolutely does not think of Derek.

God, he’s got such a crush.

He needs to get laid.

(That night, he gets laid. It doesn’t help. The woman’s an Alpha, and very pushy, but like… not in the fun way. She’s just kinda too much.)

  
  


Work is mostly uninteresting the next day. Stiles gets his coffee, spends a lot of time spinning in his spinny chair, and finishes a design that’s actually not even that ugly.

It’s good.

He sits down in the lunchroom only a little bit wired from his coffee and sets onto his pasta salad. He would usually go out for lunch with someone, but Scott’s ‘off sick’ - that could mean anything really, but probably not actual illness - and Lydia and Alison and all them have other things on.

He bites into a cherry tomato just as Derek sits down opposite him.

“Uh… hello?” Stiles says, genuinely taken aback.

“You don’t need to look so frightened.” Derek says, and then honest to god  _ smiles  _ at him. “I don’t bite.”

“Not what I was worried about.” Stiles replies, gathering his wits in a matter of seconds. “Just worried you were going to cuss me out for some design I’d messed up and then fire me.”

“Do I really have that kind of reputation?” Derek asks, looking faintly amused. 

“You’re the manager of the design floor, Derek, you’re basically the Miranda Priestly of this entire operation.” 

“Who?”

Now, that’s utterly repugnant. “How have you not see - ugh, nevermind. I like your lunch.”

Derek has some fancy-ass kind of sandwich, made with holey rye bread that was probably handmade by ethically sourced bakers or something. “Want some?”

Stiles’ pasta salad absolutely pales in comparison. “Hell yeah.”

Using a knife that Derek just…  _ has  _ for apparently this exact purpose, he slices the sandwich in half and slides one piece over to Stiles. 

Stiles chows down on the sandwich and it is… fantastic. Rye bread, tomatoes, leafy greens, thick creamy cheese and some kind of meat that he’s not familiar with… Man, he wishes he had Derek’s salary.

Or Derek’s skills in the kitchen.

He doesn’t even notice that Derek’s stolen his pasta salad. The older man spears a piece with his fork, brings it to his mouth, and chews thoughtfully. “Mmmm.” He mmmms. “Not bad. Slightly fresher cooking for himself-”

“Yeah, shut up.” 

“- but altogether not bad.” Derek pushes his salad back to him. “Good work.”

“Thanks!” Stiles chirps, slightly too enthusiastically, to cover up the redness in his cheeks. 

The moment is too nice, and he luxuriates in it.

Everything goes to hell very, very quickly.

They’re the only people in the lunchroom, so Stiles thinks he’s imagining it when he hears a cry coming through the wall. Derek doesn’t react.

But then he hears it again. “Help, please-”

“That’s-” Derek starts, but Stiles is already moving, abandoning his salad and stumbling out of the room.

There’s a maintenance closet down the end of the corridor that borders the lunchroom, and Stiles can hear muffled crying coming from behind it.

“Let me-” Derek starts, again, but Stiles doesn’t hesitate. 

He throws open the door to the closet.

The sight inside is  _ horrifying. _

There’s a smaller male Omega, shirt torn, face flushed with heat that even a Beta can smell, cowering on the floor. There’s tears running down his face.

Standing over him, dick in his hand, is Jake - the same Alpha from the other day. 

It’s obvious what’s going on. God. “Hey asshole.” 

Jake turns, and  _ oh,  _ that’s a closeup of his dick that Stiles never wanted, and snarls. “Back off.”

“Nope.” Stiles says, and punches him in the face.

There’s a whole lot of punching after that, it’s all a bit of a blur, but Stiles does see Derek wrap a blanket around the Omega’s shoulders and call the police. 

He goes back into the lunchroom to ground himself while Derek’s talking to the police and eats the other half of his sandwich. It almost makes up for the black eye and several bruises he’s sure he’s definitely got. 


	2. Chapter 2

Work gets a social worker, and they all get emailed out a list of rules the next day around ‘appropriate conduct’ from HR - which generally boil down to ‘don’t sexually assault your coworkers’.

It’s about time, honestly, and Stiles says the same to Scott when he sees him the next day. 

Stiles’ black eye has blossomed up to the point where he’s almost proud of it, and he’s heavily bruised. He looks a little like he’s walked into a door, but it doesn’t really hurt, and he knows from experience that they’ll go down in a few days.

Which is why he doesn’t expect the reaction he gets from Derek, who sits down opposite him at lunch.. 

“Have you been to the doctor?” Derek asks, gruffly, which is really bold considering the state of the economy and the state of Stiles’ finances.

“Nope.” Stiles says, chewing. He’s got a sandwich today, perhaps a little inspired by Derek’s one from the day before. It’s not nearly as good. “Why would I?”

“You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” 

“Well, I haven’t.” Stiles retorts. “I was punched in the face. Which you witnessed. I’m actually fine, it doesn’t hurt that much. ...How is Sam, anyway?”

“Physically fine.” Derek sighs. His forehead pinches in a way that doesn’t look very good on him and he rubs a hand over his forehead. “I-  _ told  _ HR we needed to have stricter regulations around this kind of thing weeks ago, and now look what’s happened. I’m sure there’s been tons of unreported cases where people have felt pressured or willed into sex after the Change and I just-”

“Not your fault.” Stiles interrupts. Then he reconsiders, because if there’s one thing he’s always had, it’s one hell of a strong sense of social justice. “I mean, a little bit your fault considering a company’s only as strong as its policy and-”

Derek’s eyes soften. “Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a bit… well - don’t feel pressured into anything here and I absolutely will not let this cloud my judgment of you professionally if you say no-”

The way he’s hmmming and haaaing over it is incredibly annoying. “Spit it out, Derek.”

“Would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

Oh yes.

_ Hell  _ yes. 

  
  


And so, they go out to dinner.

Stiles considers - maybe, for a moment - that it’s a little inappropriate, going on a date (is it a date?) with his boss, but they’re not that far apart in age, and honestly, his libido took over the moment that Derek said, “Dinner.” 

(And his stomach, but the dick thing is more pressing.) 

He takes his meds, forces his racing brain to calm down a tad, and then wears one of the nicest things he owns. It’s not a suit, because honestly, Derek doesn’t even really seem like the suit type, and Stiles isn’t either, but it’s a nice pair of dark jeans and a close-fit tee that most people would call ‘respectable’. 

The restaurant is called 1152. It serves pasta, mainly.

Stiles is a big fan of pasta, mostly.

Except when sex is on the table. Is sex on the table? He doesn’t know. ‘Cause, he likes gluten, and he  _ likes gluten,  _ but he doesn’t like eating a world’s worth of gluten and then gettin’ it on. It’s comfort, right?

So, he gets a salad. And it’s a pretty good salad, with salmon, but he mourns his loss of pasta.

“You’ve got good principles, Stiles.” Derek says, halfway through his own salad. He’s annoyingly healthy, so his has weird things, like flaxseed and kale and pomegranates scattered in it. “I appreciate having you on my team.”

“Thanks.” Stiles says, and resoundingly  _ does not blush.  _ He doesn’t. “You’re a pretty good boss, boss.” 

“You can call me by my name, Stiles.” Derek says, eyes on him. “We’re not at work.”

“Yeah, must be pretty weird getting called ‘boss’ by someone you’re on a date with.” Stiles says, because his mouth just won’t  _ shut up.  _ “I mean, unless you’re into that. Are you into that? I’m not really into that-”

Derek is looking at him with more than a faint degree of amusement, one thick kale leaf halfway to his mouth. “You talk a lot, don’t you?”

“Yeah, almost constantly. Consider it a sign that I like you.” 

“I like you too, Stiles.” Derek replies, and he’s just so goddamn  _ chivalrous  _ about it that it almost makes Stiles blush.

“Aww, thanks.”

The dinner goes well, Stiles eats and enjoys his salad, and Derek even offers to pay.

Which is nice of him.

And there’s no kiss, or sex, or anything, but Derek does hug him, and that’s actually pretty good. 

  
  


So they just… keep on going out to dinner. 

Derek is very gracious, and insists on paying, for the most part, but he’s just so  _ chivalrous  _ about it all. 

Like,  _ damn,  _ Stiles suddenly gets the thing about pushy alphas. For once, he’d like Derek to take control and just-

He needs to get laid. 

And so he tries. 

Really. They’re not dating, just going out to dinner, so he doesn’t feel particularly guilty about the whole thing…

(Who is he kidding, he definitely does)

...when a tall, dark and handsome Alpha slides up to him at a bar and offers to buy him a drink.

And Stiles  _ accepts. _

They hit it off. The Alpha’s name is Luke- or Lucas- or  _ something,  _ and he’s practically dragging his teeth along Stiles’ throat, grinding right into him when his world shifts, tilts on its axis, and he nearly throws up in the Alpha’s face. 

He pulls back, stumbles away, nausea rising in his throat, head spinning. What the  _ fuck?  _

Luke/Lucas/Loren looks confused. Perhaps a little bit disappointed, Stiles can hardly focus. “Sorry.” He slurs, and pushes away from the bar. “Gotta- go.”

He stumbles back, pushes his way out of the bar. He’s dizzy, with chills, like he’s running a fever and on the edge of a flu all at the same time. What the  _ fuck?  _ Did someone spike his drink? They couldn’t have - he was watching the bartender make it the entire time.

Stiles stumbles home and sleeps for thirteen hours, waking up half an hour before work the next morning.

He feels… fine? 

Head’s not pounding, he’s not sniffly - aside from the fact that he  _ stinks -  _ and he puts that down to the bar the night before - he’s…  _ fine?  _

Something’s not right.

But he shrugs, showers, puts on something that resembles clean clothing, and wanders off to work. 

The first thing that happens when he gets to work is that the security guard won’t stop staring at him. She’s a brusque woman, a definite Alpha, and they’ve usually not gotten on before. 

But she won’t stop staring. 

The second thing that happens is that he runs straight into someone.

He’s rounding the corner, mere metres from his office when he collides with a hard chest and his nerves explode into overdrive. He keens a little, taking in the sight, the smell, when he’s-

Pushed back against the opposite wall of the corridor, and he finally is able to focus on the figure opposite him.

It’s Derek, and Stiles wants. Wants more than he ever has, and he’s definitely been  _ wanting  _ for a long time. It’s a pounding in his chest, his stomach, and almost definitely his dick.

Oh, this is very bad. This is very, very bad.

Derek isn’t unaffected either. His eyes are bright and glassy. He’s struggling to say anything, obviously struggling to think. “What. The fuck.” He bites out, through painful, gritted teeth. 

“Office.” Stiles gasps, and drags Derek into his space by the arm.

Every little movement sets his nerves on  _ fire.  _

Oh, this is very bad. 

  
  


“What the fuck Stiles?” Derek swears. He’s pacing at the other end of the room, looking pained. “You’re a Beta, same as me, right?”

Stiles wishes he had an answer. He’s sitting on his office chair, at the other end of the room. “...Yes?”

“Christ.” Derek kneads his forehead with the ball of his hand. “Then why do-”

\-  _ I want you to bend me over my desk?  _ Stiles thinks wildly and a little hysterically, but fortunately only in his head. Out loud, he says, “No idea.”

Derek grunts. He’s got his hands balled into fists. “You can’t just say things like that, Stiles, I’ll-”

_ Oh,  _ he’d said it out loud. Fuck. Good. Well, with it all out in the open, Stiles says, “I don’t know what’s going on here, but do you just want to fuck?” 

“We’re both-  _ this  _ -” Derek says, wildly, “You can’t-”

“You’ve been taking me out to dinner, Derek, this is the most fulfilling relationship I’ve had in years. I can one-hundred percent consent.  _ And  _ I’m fairly sure HR has a clause covering something to do with sexual relations with your boss in the workplace.” Stiles is actually definitely sure on that one. He’d had to study it when the Change had happened. They all had.

Anyway. He repeats. “I can one hundred percent consent. Can we figure out the details later?” 

“Uh-” Derek starts, his jaw set, eyes shining. He looks torn, like he’s so aroused he can barely move - like Stiles - but also a little like he’s holding something back.

“You can also say no.” Stiles says, quickly, no matter how much the idea of walking out of his office like this pains him. “I’m also very fine with walking home and jerking off for sixteen hours if you’re not keen on this. I do get it.” 

Derek snorts, clenched fists coming back to rest at his sides. He shakes his head slowly. “Only you, Stiles.” 

“What can I say,” Stiles says, leaning back in his chair and taking a far too deep breath of that rich, enticing scent. It goes straight to his junk. Oh God, he’s definitely got a boner. “I aim to please.” 

“Fuck it.” Derek says, hoarsely and suddenly very, very close. “We’ll sort the paperwork later.” 

He pulls Stiles into a kiss, and while Derek’s words might have had slight qualms about the whole thing, his lips certainly don’t.

..

..

..

..

_ So,  _ it turns out it’s actually a bit of a drug  _ Thing.  _ Derek hasn’t suddenly turned into an Alpha, Stiles into an Omega. They’re both still Betas (fortunately, Stiles is  _ not  _ in the mood to have heats every couple of months), they’d just run into the same experimental drug - designed to mimic the effects of a heat cycle - in two different bars the night before. 

The FBI and everything were investigating, and forty five Betas had been affected.

It was all a bit of a faff. 

However, Stiles thinks, absently, as he studies the foggy cityscape from the window of Derek’s apartment - it’s not all bad.

At least they’d been lucky to have each other.

“Pensive.” Derek grumbles, in his usual way, from behind him. “What are you looking at?”

“I was seeing if I could become as sour as you by staring out at the rain.” Stiles turns around, wraps his arms around his partner and heaves a great sigh. “No luck. Unfortunately. Dinner?”

“Dinner.” Derek kisses him. “And I reject that. I’m not  _ sour. _ ”

(He is. Just a bit.)

**Author's Note:**

> i have seen approximately one episode of teen wolf so the characterisation might be all over the place! who knows!
> 
> yell at me on my [ tumblr ](http://eph-em-era.tumblr.com)


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